


Lay Your Pain Upon My Shoulders

by Archer973



Series: Build The Castle On Our Passions [7]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-25
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2020-07-22 19:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19977943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archer973/pseuds/Archer973
Summary: "Her, fight for me?" The pain of Charlie's conversation is too much for her to carry alone.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First off, I am so very sorry about how long this took, my brother's wedding is coming up and I have been working feverishly on the blanket I am making him as a gift, so unfortunately that has taken up a lot of my time. But, that aside, I really hope you guys like this one, because it has been one I have been looking forward to writing for a while. Also, like I said before, this is pretty anti-Rachel (mostly because I am, and Bass definitely agrees with me), so if you like the character, unfortunately Bass is very annoyed with her and the writing definitely shows it. That being said, I hope you guys enjoy, and I would love to hear from you! Cheers!

**Chapter One**

The liquor hit his throat with a hot, sharp burn that was nothing like Miles' smooth whiskey and everything that Bass needed in that moment. His face still throbbed from Miles' fist, but the pain only brought a sort of triumph with it. Now Miles would see. They had _needed_ to hit that training camp, needed to wipe out as many of the cadets as they could before one of those brainwashed little bastards did something Bass couldn't live with.

Like try to blow up Miles on his birthday.

A small part of him whispered, reminding him of what had happened after he had killed the rebels who had targeted Miles that day, but Bass pushed it away. This was different, and Miles knew it. He was angry, but under all the guilt and hand-wringing Rachel had shoved into his head, he knew that Bass was right.

Charlie knew it too.

Bass tried not to think about why that mattered so much to him, but unconsciously his eyes began to sweep the writhing mass of fire-lit bodies spread around him, searching for a flash of golden hair.

She wasn't there.

A sick wash of icy fear seized Bass' heart, nearly making him stumble. He knew that she had come with him to the training camp, knew because he had seen her in the march, and later in the chaos of the battle. She had been beautiful, knife a constant biting silver snake as she showed no mercy to the Patriot bastards. But Bass had lost sight of her before the end, and afterwards he had been busy with intel and dealing with the survivors.

Bass' frantically searching eyes caught on a broad shape he knew well from their days on the road. Mack, and with him the other Angels. They were drinking, enjoying their victory together, but they were removed from the rest of the clan, settled at the base of the stairs that led up to the higher levels of their industrial safehouse. Bass followed the stairs with his eyes and finally saw her, leaned on the railing of the catwalk above them, her head dropped low.

His feet were moving before he even had time to register anything but the euphoric swell of relief in his stomach. He crossed the compound in long, purposeful strides, barely acknowledging the called greetings and offered drinks as he passed.

Mack saw him coming and nodded to him, though Bass could feel the man's eyes on him all the way up the stairs. Mack had never mentioned the scene he had walked in on between Bass and Charlie, but there was an... assessing quality to the way he looked at Bass, as if he were trying to decided whether or not Bass was a threat to his commander. The loyalty the big man had shown to Charlie only made Bass like him more, so he returned his nod and even offered him a small smile as he prepared to climb.

“Monroe.” Bass stopped at the sound of his name and looked back at Mack, eyebrow raised. He liked the man, but if he was going to try and stop him from going to Charlie...

“Her mother was up there, few minutes ago,” Mack told him, face blank but the flick of his eyes revealing his distaste. “Don't think they were braiding each other's hair.”

Bass fought not to scowl, though judging by the quirk of Mack's lips he quickly tried to hide, it didn't work. Thanking the other man with a nod, Bass quickly climbed the stairs, the rage that had been sated by today's work flaring back into life at the thought of Rachel tearing into Charlie like she had been tearing into Miles. At least Miles had chosen to fall in love with Rachel. Charlie hadn't gotten to choose which bitch whelped her.

The anger mounted with each step he took, and when he reached the landing it was a surprise that the metal did not quake and shimmer with the inferno swirling in his chest. He wanted to strangle Rachel with his bare hands, wanted to force her to her knees and make her beg forgiveness for all the poison she had spewed across the ones he lov – the ones he valued. He wanted –

Charlie was half hidden in the shadows, her head dropped low, her shoulders hunched in such pain that it hit Bass like a fist in the gut, knocking all other thoughts from his head and leaving him sick and hollow. This was wrong, it was so wrong. He had seen this beautiful woman facing down monsters and rapists, insurmountable odds and certain death, yet never had he seen her so defeated, beaten down by blows that came from someone who should have loved her.

“Are you alright?” The words were out before he could stop them and he grimaced. Of course she wasn't alright. Anyone with eyes could see that. But the part of him that knew the raw pain of family's razor words wanted to give her the chance to hide, to draw her walls back up and be safe from the pain, even if that meant her shutting him out.

Charlie let out a huff of laughter that had no mirth in it, not at all surprised to hear his voice. They always seemed to find each other when the other was in pain. New Vegas. Pottsboro. His execution. The farmhouse afterwards. Th dogfight. Now.

“Just had a nice little chat with my mother,” Charlie said, lifting her head and looking out over the jubilant camp below them. The strained false cheer of her voice added another log to fuel the fire of Bass' rage, but he forced it down, refusing to let the rawness in Charlie's face get burned in the fallout of his anger. Instead he kept quiet, walking to her side and joining her in leaning on the railing, shoulder not quite touching hers. He didn't speak, just stood there, solid and calm, making no demands but also pushing up no barriers. He had decades of experience with Matheson emotions, and so he let Charlie come to him, steady in the storm he could see swirling beneath her skin.

“In the same breath that she accused me of killing children, she made _everything_ I've been through about her and Miles. About how _they_ were the reason I was a soldier, a killer. And then turned around and _blamed me_ for the way _she_ acted, that she was fighting for _me_.” Charlie let out a harsh, sharp laugh, all pain and anger. It sliced at Bass' heart and he had to fight the urge to pull her to him, to wrap her in his arms and whisper promises of comfort in her ear. “Her, fight for me? That's rich.”

“Your mother loves you, Charlie.” Bass hated saying the words, but he could not bear to see her so beaten by pain. Intellectually Bass knew that his words were true, though his heart seethed that Rachel had a funny way of showing it. “She spent years as my prisoner to protect you.”

Charlie snorted, turning and looking at Bass for the first time, making his breath catch in his throat. The depth of _pain_ in her eyes... Bass' chest ached, heart taking the blow of Charlie's stripped bare agony. It was the kind of pain that was nestled so deep that to try to pull it out would be the same as pulling out your spinal column, so intrinsic a part of you it was. Bass' wore the memory of three gravestones and Miles' face beyond the gun. Charlie's wore a knowledge so deep that Bass almost couldn't look at it, so agonizing was the truth.

“No, she spent years as your prisoner to protect _Danny_.” Charlie's voice broke on the name and Bass felt the sick twist of the guilt he tried so hard to bury. “Do you know why she wouldn't turn the power on for you? The actual reason?”

Bass silently shook his head.

“Because then Danny would die. Her _baby boy_. There was some kind of nanotech keeping him alive, keeping his lungs from failing. And after he was killed...” Charlie's voice failed and Bass could see the tears trying to form in her eyes, but she fought them back, refusing to give in. “She told me I would never see her again _the same day I buried my little brother_. My little brother, who she had _abandoned_ for ten years. Who _I_ had rescued, who _I_ had raised. _I_ was the one who held him when he was sick, who made him medicine and told him stories when he was too weak to get out of bed. I didn't sleep for more than _an hour at a time_ so that I could make sure he was still _breathing_ every night. And she didn't care. She left me. I didn't matter, my pain didn't matter, not then, not ten years ago, not _ever_. And now she says she's fighting for _me_?”

Charlie shoved off the rail, turning away from Bass as a tear slipped passed her fierce control and silently down her cheek. Bass tried to swallow, but the sorrow pouring from his chest choked him. He could see his baby sister, her brown curls bouncing as she ran after him laughing, calling his name and throwing her arms around him when he allowed her to catch up. To grieve her at the same time as grieving his parents had nearly destroyed him, and if Miles had not found him in the graveyard he knew he would have joined them rather than live with the pain. But to have the only parent you have left leave you, tell you that you would never see them again, on the same day you put your sibling in the ground?

He was not surprised when the first blow landed, the metal support she had struck echoing her strike dully. Violence was the dark twin of pain, as he knew too well. Bass wanted to kill Rachel. He wanted to grab her by the throat and force her to see the pain she had put her daughter through. He remembered how he had had to _remind_ her in the Tower that her daughter was out there, fighting for her life. He remembered the way Rachel had sounded, above him in that abandoned building as they waited for Frye, how she had called her daughter stupid with such contempt, how she never looked at Charlie unless it was to berate her. The rage in his chest twisted, black and ugly.

Charlie's fist lashed out again, and again, and again, pounding her pain into the uncaring metal. Unable to stand it any longer, Bass grabbed her, pulling her around and into him, wrapping her up in his arms just as he had so desperately wanted to do when he had first seen her. Charlie tried to shove away, her whole body shaking, but Bass just held her, pressing her to his chest, head leaning against the side of hers.

“I'm sorry, Charlotte,” he murmured, closing his eyes and letting his walls be pulled down by the depth of her need. “I'm so sorry.”

Charlie remained tense for another long moment, then she sagged, finally allowing herself to give in to the pain she had been carrying for so long. Burying her face into Bass' shoulder, she let him hold her. She didn't make a sound, but Bass could feel her tears wetting his shirt.

Uncaring that anyone in camp could see them if they looked up, Bass cradled her against him, cheek pressed to her hair. He ignored the swirl of emotions in his chest as the beautiful warrior in his arms leaned into him, trusting him to be her shield in this moment of vulnerability. For Bass knew that if he looked at them, he would see something that would change everything and he knew that he would not survive the coming storm with that knowledge in his heart. So instead he pressed his lips to Charlie's hair and closed his eyes, allowing his heart to murmur quietly to her the words he could not say.

The moment seemed to last a lifetime, though Bass knew it actually wasn't long until Charlie pulled back, refusing to meet his eyes as she wiped the tears almost angrily from her face. She made to turn away, but Bass caught hold of her arm, forcing her to face him.

“Your mother should be proud of you, Charlie,” he told her, voice soft yet edged with a fierceness that was echoed in his storm blue eyes. “Proud of strong, amazing woman that you are. She didn't do that, Miles didn't do that. Everything that you are, is because _you_ have made the choice to stand up, to survive, to be strong.”

“Yeah, I'm real strong, crying into your shoulder like a pathetic child because mommy made me mad,” Charlie replied bitterly, still refusing to meet his eyes, voice twisted with self-loathing. Bass grabbed Charlie's chin, forcing her to look up at him.

“Don't belittle yourself, Charlotte,” he growled, a thread of anger twisting into the voice that still spoke all his tenderness to her. “You've survived things that would destroy most people. It's alright to be _angry_ about that. It's alright to be angry that your mother doesn't see you, angry that everything you've fought for doesn't mean anything to her. Anger is a lot easier to deal with than pain, but pain is what makes us human. It doesn't make you weak for being in pain. It just means you're strong enough to bear it.”

Charlie looked at him for a moment, eyes unreadable, and Bass felt a sick twist of apprehension, wondering if perhaps this time he had gone too far, let too much of himself be seen, be spoken. He did not have drugs this time to blame it on, when her pain had pulled too many truths from his lips.

Then Charlie stretched up and kissed him.

It was not a kiss of passion, but gentle and lingering. Bass' hand was already on her chin and it was only natural to slide it to her jaw so he could cradle her face as she leaned into him, letting for one moment all the walls between them come down. They both knew it could not last. They both knew that the world was standing just outside this bubble of time, waiting to rip them apart. But in this moment they let themselves forget, let themselves lean into the warmth of the other and let words whisper, unspoken but tasted, between their lips.

Charlie drew back and Bass let her, though he could feel her lips still lingering upon his own. Silently she turned and walked away from him, farther along the catwalk towards the heart of the towering building. Bass closed his eyes, trying to control his pounding heart.

“Bass?” He opened his eyes. Charlie was standing half in the shadows, the blood of the battle still smeared across her cheek and forehead, looking at him with heavy, knowing eyes. “Thank you.” Then she was gone and Bass had to force his heart out of his throat and back into his chest, where it surged and clamored and twisted, shouting words he refused to hear as he leaned against the railing, stripped weak and raw by the emotions he fought.

Taking a deep breath, Bass forced himself to stand up straight. The task of pulling his walls back up was both arduous and familiar, for how often had Charlie ripped them down? He used to think there was only one Matheson with that power, and he had spent years building up an immunity to Miles. But now the guards around his heart seemed to fall under the slightest look from her and Bass knew that would only lead to pain.

He felt a moment of sick anger at all the hooks snarled in the core of him. Miles, his brother, his best friend, his other half both on the battlefield and off it who tried so hard to pretend he was none of those things. Connor, his son, the reminder of so many of his failures. The Republic, a selfish kingdom built to keep Miles with him, whose power was supposed to have brought him peace. Charlie...

Charlie.

Charlie.

Strident shouts rang through the air, easily differentiated from the revelry by their harsh edges. Bass looked down and saw a commotion at the gate. He headed towards the stairs almost gratefully. War was so much easier to deal with than love.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Bass looked on as Miles locked up the Neville kid, body automatically guarding his brother's back, though he didn't think Jason was truly a threat. He watched the youth a little sadly, this young man raised by his army. Jason had once been one of his most promising soldiers, a star on the rise, pride of his ambitious father and trusted agent of the Militia.

But then Bass had sent him after the Mathesons.

After Charlie.

Bass knew everything he needed to about Jason's defection just by the way he had looked at Charlie, standing there by the gate with their guns on him but barely able to tear his eyes away from her. In a way he didn't blame the kid. He knew from personal experience how hard it was to resist that Matheson pull.

“Bass.” Miles voice broke through his thoughts and Bass suddenly realized he had drifted too far. Shaking himself, Bass pulled himself back to reality. Miles was standing in front of him, looking at him with eyebrows raised. The Neville kid was chained to one of the metal supports, silent and passive, his eyes staring out into the darkness blankly.

“You good?” Miles demanded, annoyed. Bass rolled his eyes, reholstering his gun.

“Just thinking about Austin,” he replied, though he had in fact not been giving a single damn about Austin. Carver could get eat alive by piranhas for all he cared. “We're gonna have to go in fast and light.” Miles nodded in agreement and, glancing back at Jason, motioned for Bass to follow him. Bass did, and together they moved farther into the shadows of their safehouse.

“You, me, Nipples...”

“And someone to watch him,” Bass added, trying to ignore how easy it was to fall back into his old rhythm with Miles, planning and plotting, the one finishing the though the other had begun. Just like the old days.

“Two someones,” Miles corrected, just as Bass had known he would. “I don't like the fact those Patriots bastards could have him zombified right now and us not even know it.”

“Connor and Charlie?” Bass suggested, because they were the obvious choice. He might have hesitated once on Charlie's name, given the history between her and Jason, but he knew her. He knew that if Jason got activated, she would do what had to be done. Whatever other shit was going on, Bass trusted Charlie to have his back, for as long as he was on her side.

Bass suddenly realized that Miles hadn't replied. He turned and looked at his brother and saw that Miles was frowning.

“What?” he demanded.

“Maybe we should bring one of the mercs instead,” Miles replied slowly. Bass looked at him for a moment, confused.

“What, instead of Connor? The kid's proven himself, Miles, you've seen it, he's a fighter.” Miles frown deepened, and he shifted, hand coming up to rest on his sword hilt in a gesture of unease Bass knew all too well.

“Not instead of Connor.” Bass stared at him, trying to figure out what he was saying. Then it dawned on him.

“ _Charlie_? You want to bring some unknown merc along instead of _Charlie_?” Miles' hand was practically wringing his swords neck at this point and Bass knew he was desperately wishing he had a bottle of booze.

“I just think that maybe Charlie needs a break,” Miles replied, though he wouldn't look at Bass as he said it. “Needs some time to rest.”

“Time to rest... what the hell are you talking about, Miles?” Bass demanded, incredulous. Miles glared at him, and suddenly Bass got it.

“Rachel, this is all Rachel, isn't it? She lost her shit because Charlie came to the training camp and now _you're_ trying to put Charlie under house arrest or something to appease that – ” Bass bit off what he was going to say, knowing that it would not be helpful. Miles wouldn't look at him again, and Bass knew he was right.

Fury swelled up inside him. He could still feel Charlie's shaking body in his arms, could still hear the grief and pain as she talked about her mother. And now Rachel was trying to manipulate Miles into forcing Charlie to spend _more_ time with her?

“She's not a child, Miles,” Bass snapped, fighting hard to keep his rage out of his voice. Miles didn't know what had happened up on the catwalk, which was very beneficial for Bass' continued health, but he still knew that this bullshit was wrong. “She's a fighter, and a damn good one. You leave her out of the action and you're killing her, more than if you bring her. What the hell has gotten into you? First leaving Charlie behind when we went to Mexico, now trying to again.”

“Well the last time I sent her out, she got chained to a bed in a whorehouse and almost raped,” Miles growled, finally turning his dark eyes back on Bass. Bass flinched, the memory to Charlie being wheeled by chained like an animal slashing across his mind. But he forced it back, refusing to let the what-ifs torment him.

“No, last time you sent her out she stared down a powerful warlord, pulled off a heist, got betrayed, escaped, saved the life of said warlord, me, and my kid, _and_ earned us mercs on top of all that.” Bass listed off the events with sharp, pointed precision. If it weren't for Charlie, he knew he never would have made it out of New Vegas alive. She was the one who had saved all their lives and he was damned if she wasn't going to be respected for it.

Bass suddenly realized Miles was staring at him.

“What?” he demanded.

“You actually... like her, don't you?” Miles' voice was softer now, almost bemused. Bass had a wild moment of wanting to say 'yeah, Miles, I like your niece enough that I contemplated killing my own son when I saw him kissing her, and then I got her off against a tree because my subconscious was tormenting me with images of what she could have been if you had raised her in our Republic, like it should have been.' But he didn't. His death wish had been satiated in New Vegas, and he had no desire to end this day speared on Miles' sword like a fish. So instead he told the other part of the truth, the part that had been there before Charlie's lips ever touched his.

“I respect her. And I respect her abilities. You did too, once, before Rachel started making you treat Charlie like a five year old again.” Rachel's name was bitter on his lips, and he remembered a single tear sliding down a tanned cheek.

“You can't blame Rachel for being worried about her daughter's safety,” Miles replied, but the words were tired, hollow.

“You mean worried like she was worried when she abandoned her for ten years to come be with you?” Bass demanded, and Miles flinched, just like Bass had known he would. The fire was rising in Bass' chest once more, fed by the feel of Charlie's tears on his shoulder. “Or worried like when she left Charlie just after they buried her brother? You were there for that one, weren't you, Miles? How did that go?” The pain on Miles' face was all the answer Bass needed. “In the Tower, I had to _remind_ Rachel that Charlie was out there. Me. I had to remind her that she still had a child, a _living_ child who was fighting for her life and needed help. That is fucked up, Miles, fucked up in ways I can't even begin to describe.”

“Look, losing Danny was hard on Rachel, alright?” Miles said tiredly, the lines of his face growing heavier. Bass looked at him incredulously.

“Hard on Rachel? Hard on _Rachel_ , Miles? Was it _Rachel_ who came to you and begged you to help save him, after walking hundreds of miles when she had never even left her hometown before? Was it _Rachel_ who spent weeks searching, fighting, killing, just to get him back? Charlie didn't even know how to use a gun or a sword, and she was going up against the Militia, _our_ Militia, Miles, for him, for her brother. She raised that boy, protected him, woke up every hour to make sure he was still _breathing_ , stood between him and a fucking gun, no hesitation, no fear, telling me to pick her, to kill her instead of him. And then, after all of this, she gets to watch him die in her arms. But it was hard on _Rachel_?”

The words poured out of him like a flood, driven on by the pain Charlie had laid bare for him to see. If she was hurting, than so would the world. Bass would burn it down for her, scourge the earth and let each tear that had landed on his shoulder be a gallon of blood shed by her enemies. How dare Rachel try to manipulate Charlie through Miles? He was the only fucking family she had left, the only one who loved her with everything he had, who saw exactly how amazing she was, this warrior of the new world. And if he had forgotten, then Bass would happily remind him.

Miles was looking at Bass like he had never seen him before. Bass looked back, fighting the inferno in his chest. He would not let Rachel take Miles from Charlie. Bass would burn the world to the ground before he let the toxic bitch destroy the best thing that had ever happened to his brother.

“You talked to Charlie about Danny?” Miles' voice was soft, such a counterpoint to Bass' rage that for a moment Bass stumbled, sliding free of that terrible grip and back into the rationale of reality. He knew that he couldn't tell Miles about Charlie crying into his shoulders, though he wondered viciously how much Miles would care about his psychopathic lover if he knew how much pain she had put her daughter through.

“She talked to me,” he replied, brushing quickly passed that point, as if it didn't matter, even though his heart squeezed at the memory of Charlie's voice breaking on her brother's name. “But that's not the point, Miles. The point is that you need to stop letting Rachel cloud your vision and see Charlie for what she has always been: a strong, capable woman who is a hell of a fighter and as committed and dedicated to this as you are. Anything else is an insult.”

Miles was still staring at him, and there was a such a look of bemusement on his face that Bass was suddenly concerned he had let more slip than he meant to.

“What?” he snapped, self-conscious. Miles seemed to jerk out of his thoughts, blinking, though his eyes still didn't leave Bass' face.

“Nothing, it's just...” Miles' trailed off, cocking his head and looking at Bass as if he were trying to unravel some kind of puzzle. “I've just never heard you talk about, well, _anyone_ that way.” Bass bared his teeth, the semblance of a smile without the warmth of one.

“Out of all the Mathesons that have tried to kill me, she's the only one that's actually pulled the trigger,” he replied, enjoying the way that Miles' eyes flinched as he reminded him of their past. “So yeah, I respect her. And you should too.”

Turning, Bass strode off into the darkness. He could feel Miles' eyes on him but in that moment he didn't care. Let Miles think what he wanted. He was tired of playing by the rules of a world that was long dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was very pleased with being able to put in a Bass and Miles scene, since Miles and Charlie got one in the piece before. I hope you guys enjoyed this, and I would love to hear your thoughts. The next piece will be small one dealing with the aftermath of Austin, and then we will get into the meaty one, which is set when Miles disappears (fair warning, I'm going to mess with canon a bit for that one). Also, I have the whole series plotted out, and it looks like it will be sitting pretty at about 17 installments (good lord, this thing has grown into a monster). Updates might be a little slow until my brother's wedding is over (mid August) but I will try my absolute best to keep them coming. Cheers, folks, and thank you so much for reading!


End file.
